


7/8

by ladygrange



Category: Led Zeppelin
Genre: (in order of closest to the sea), F/M, Light Dirty Talk, Outdoor Sex, all that witnessing, and all b/c energy passes through the water to cause circular motion, but it’s the swash i’m concerned with, feels urgent and incredible, i think i recur and wash over in the habit of my words, the sediment underneath flows and shifts in seconds before the water recedes, the swash zone & beach face & wrack line & and berm, then i find something shifts each time, there are four components of a beach, where i am caught in the circular motion of one salient thing:, where the turbulent layer of water washes ashore after the wave has broken
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:40:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26357341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladygrange/pseuds/ladygrange
Summary: Emma reads from Walt Whitman’s “As I Ebb’d with the Ocean of Life.”Thank you for reading, so much <3
Relationships: Jimmy Page/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 14





	7/8

**Author's Note:**

  * For [paintbox (imstillprettyodd)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/imstillprettyodd/gifts).



“All right, are you ready?”

Jimmy folds his arms behind his head. The beach is deserted, nothing but sand, him in his bucket hat and a layer of sun cream. The blanket she’s insisted upon flutters at the edges with tiny piles of white sand dollars and mermaid’s purses in deep black. And her standing before him–her shoulders in line with the horizon, her head rises above.

His teeth gleam white in his beard.

“I’m ready.”

She clears her throat. Waves rush forth and retreat behind her, big dunes rise and fall behind Jimmy––sea oats cap each one. Her book is cracked in the middle, if she didn’t know the passage by heart, the pages would be blinding. 

Her toes burrow in the hot sand.

“As I wend to the shores I know not,” she reads out loud over the roar of the ocean, “As I list to the dirge, the voices of men and women wreck’d. As I inhale the impalpable breezes that set in upon me…” 

She peeks over the lips of the book.

“Jimmy, you haven’t fallen asleep, have you?”

Another smile, with his eyes closed and knees up, swaying with the breeze.

“I’m listening, Emmaline.”

“As the ocean so mysterious rolls toward me closer and closer.” She rolls onto the balls of her feet and back, her voice steady and clear. “I too but signify at the utmost a little wash’d-up drift.”

She flips the page. 

“A few sands and dead leaves to gather––gather, and merge myself as part of the sands and drift.”

A moment passes between them. His knees meet and part. 

“Bit morbid, isn’t it, darling?”

She grins and snaps the book shut. “Whitman had a lot on his mind.”

She goes down to him, his arms held open for her; for her astride his hips and leaning against his upright thighs. Warmth climbs from his hands on her sand crusted thighs and under the western shirt she’d taken from him. 

“You have a direct line, then?” Jimmy asks with arched brows and eyes still closed. Hands still wandering.

She arrests them both in her own. “Says the man who had an important meeting with an ouija board.”

“Just a bit of fun.”

“Uh huh.”

Jimmy opens his eyes, lit green and finely lashed in this bright sun. He flexes his hands in her hold, in silent language to let him free and wander once more. Her shirt - his shirt - is open. And has been since they stepped off the bleached boards leading to the sand. She had not thought to pack a swimsuit. The trip to see him in Florida had been more an instant’s wish than anything planned. Still, nice to get away from the opposite corner of the States, where rain and mist covered every day. 

“Where did you find this place?” Jimmy asks softly, thumb following her clavicle.

“I asked Peter, who referred me to the hotel manager, but then Jonesy recommended a spot.” 

Jimmy breathes a laugh. “Yes, he’s good with out of the way places.” Then, looking to each side. “He’s not here right now is he?”

“No,” she grins, leaning down to catch his bearded cheek in her fingers. To scratch until he’s almost closed his eyes again. “He's gone to get a souvenir for his girls."

She kisses along his temple and in his hair. In a smell only time near the sea could bring—half brined and sun dried. Jimmy tilts his chin for a kiss. He tongues her mouth open in that way he has, lifting his head to meet her, hat falling away, suckling her tongue like he would her nipple. Much more careful if he were between her legs and tending to her clitoris. 

She breaks away with her lips swollen and her cheeks tingling, hair in two curtains beside them. 

“You’ve gotten hard,” she murmurs on his lips.

Crinkles spread against the outer corners of his eyes. He cups her bare backside and says, “You’ve gotten tan.”

“Not everywhere.”

That draws a throaty chuckle from him. “Let me see?”

She sits up for him and takes the loose sides of his shirt in one hand. Soft, tender flesh curves from her inner thighs and lower belly, to her pubic hair and the rosy skin it hides. All of it protected from the sun. Private. Except to his darkening gaze. Her belly jumps when Jimmy traces the seam of her lips with two fingers. Up and down, petting and gathering moisture. One of her nipples peeks out of his shirt.

“Come here,” he says, voice husky.

She rolls her hips against his erection. Still covered by shorts a few tones darker than the sand. The buttoned popped, the zipper still egregiously done up.

She smiles. “Why?”

“Because I want your nipple in my mouth, Emmaline.” His eyes flit to her face. “Come here, darling.”

He captures her nipple in a hard suckle, lips flayed red over pale skin, tongue lashing, and his fingers still at play, dipping in to tease before circling her clit. She keeps herself raised above him on her forearms; her hair drags and trembles with every little cry. Jimmy abandons the one nipple for the other, leaving it stiff and welted. She presses into the rasp of his beard and the heat of his mouth. Jimmy could make her come like this, even without his fingers. But she _aches_. Wants him. Pops free of his mouth despite the frown on his lips. 

“Give it back,” he says, thumbing them both now. Her clit pulses with the loss.

She kisses the tip of his nose. “No.”

“Not fair,” he says, while she kisses down his neck, through his dark beard to the fine skin of his neck. “Wasn’t done.”

She rubs her forehead against his chest, in the soft swirls of his chest hair, swiping her tongue over his nipple. Pleasure pulls behind her ribs at being close. 

She sits up and astride him again. 

“Jimmy.”

“Emmaline.”

She smiles and looks down to where she’s worked his waistband over the tip of his erection. Just an inch or so revealing the slit and how it weeps small beads of liquid sugar, smearing on the pads of her fingers while she makes circles. 

Jimmy grunts from deep in his chest.

“You like that,” she muses.

He lifts his hips in offering. “Off, darling.”

She swallows and nods. He’s pink more than tanned, but the flush above his beard and the splash of color on his chest match his lips. His cock is darker, plummy at the head. All of him hot and stiff and velvety

His neck tenses, breath hissing out when she slides his cock between her folds. 

“Not _fair_.”

She glides slow and with a small grin at his pouting, clit bumping the tiny ridges. 

“ _Impatient._ ”

He groans but goes weak on the towel, throat working. Hands flexing on her hips.

She takes him with a shallow split of her thighs and her eyes drifting closed––his pulse and hers mix where they join. She settles at the root of his erection. Desire is liquid and in every limb. She’ll come just like this, heavy and full of him.

“I can feel you better like this,” she manages, eyes clamped shut, hips in a tight, slow circle. “Can f-feel you getting harder inside me.”

“Darling,” Jimmy rasps, jostling her. “My darling, look at me.”

Her mouth parts as she does. His thumb finds her clit in tender swipes. She searches his face, dizzy with pleasure, voice thick,

“I don’t know why it’s always like this. How it’s always like this.”

Jimmy reaches for her face with his other hand, her cheek cradled in his palm.

“Because I know you,” he says, so flushed, eyebrows pinched. 

A laugh and a moan escape her. “Terrible isn’t it.”

“No,” he says so sharply, bucking into her. “It isn’t.”

From heavy lids and dark pupils, his gaze pins her, stays steady. She could sink into them.

“ _Emma_.”

She nods and curls her fingers in his ribs for leverage. Each bounce of her hips pushes a sob from her throat, pleasure soaked and closer. Closer to coming with his deft touches. His eyes flit from her face to where she penetrates herself, alternately revealing and concealing his glistening cock. 

Her open mouth slides further into his palm when she comes, muscles grasping helplessly. 

Jimmy holds her.

And then him. His dark, thick hair in her hands and his head arching in her gasp. She holds him through the sharp _smack_ of his flesh between her thighs and the look of agony which parts his mouth. Semen drips milky and hot in his final, weak thrusts. His wavering, grateful moans that she kisses away.

All is soft and bending. The kind of tired only good exertion can bring. Of being out of doors and slick with his seed. The ocean roars along with her pulse. Jimmy tucks her against his neck, her lips in his beard. His legs fold over hers. 

“The shores I know not…” he says, slowly, testing the phrase. “Gathered and merged…”

She nods, sleep in her voice, “Myself as part of the sands and drift.”

His cock is wet and wilting between their bodies, still hot and slippery from them both. His hands follow her back to her shoulder blades under the shirt. He holds her tight against him until her inhale matches his exhale. 

“You know there are these sands,” Jimmy says, sifting through her hair now. “Well, seas of sand dunes, in Morocco and the Arabian Peninsula. They call them ergs.”

“Ergs.”

“Mm.”

She lifts her head. “Would you like to go?”

His lips rise at the corner, a parenthesis forms beneath his beard. “Maybe someday, when things have settled down and I’ve got time.”

She puts her finger to that crease next to his mouth. “In fifty years then.”

Sometime in November, that’s when he and everybody at Atlantic wants the LP out. Months away right now––strange to think August is almost out. She knows he’ll get some time, of course, always a chunk here and there to rest. 

Jimmy looks lost in thought, gaze fixed on the shadows on her chest where the shirt covers her skin. She brings him to her by the jaw. Wanting to know.

“It… is a bit fast paced,” he admits, face scrunched.

“Yes, but you like that.”

“Sometimes. I like it sometimes.”

She rests at his neck. “I know you do.”

Jimmy turns his face into her hair. 

“Fifty years,” he murmurs. “Seems a long way off.”

She hums in response.

“Dunno if I’ll make it till then,” he says in that voice she knows. At once self-deprecating and amused. 

She folds her arms on his chest to look at him squarely. 

“Because you’ve suddenly come down with the consumption?”

Jimmy purses his grin and shakes his head.

“Well then, what exactly happened with the ouija board?”

She reaches to press her thumb to the bridge of his nose, where a few creases indent worry between his brows. Once smoothed, she follows the slope to the end, the drop off to his lips. 

“There’s still time,” she says gently. “You know that, hm?”

Seated in this particular worry, Jimmy can only take her hand and hold it against his cheek. A tight press, so that she feels the ridge of his cheekbone.

“Are you thinking of shaving?” she offers softly.

A shake. He closes his eyes. Concentrating. His legs tighten around hers. 

“Jimmy,” she presses her voice into his beard. “My darling.”

His lips flit into a little smile. His eyelids flutter open.

“Emmaline.”

She’s met once more with a brilliant hue, half sunk in the fullness of his lower lids. 

“Yes.”

“What time do you have to be back?”

She scratches gently above his ear until his head turns for more attention. 

“Mm, around seven or eight o’clock.”

“There’s time,” he nods to the shore. “You'll sit in the water with me?”

“Of course.” She nuzzles her cheeks in the wool of his beard. “It’s only a little after lunch.”

“Lunch, too.”

“Lunch, too.”

He crinkles long and big cheeked. 

Water makes small pools of their footsteps before erasing the imprint. 

The body bears witness to love.

**Author's Note:**

> Emma reads from Walt Whitman’s “As I Ebb’d with the Ocean of Life.”
> 
> Thank you for reading, so much <3


End file.
